Playing the Get Out of Hell Card
by Aservis Roturier
Summary: Reapers sometimes play other roles as well. T for graphic composting.


He chased them all away.

They'd served their purpose, each in his or her own disastrous but necessary way, and in his own way he was grateful, he supposed, but now they were in the way so out, out. He took great pleasure in assuming a less corporeal form and thoroughly scaring the shit out of all three of them-even Maylene who had always said she fancied a good ghost story (_but apparently being in one is quite a different matter,_) until they no longer had the least desire to stay anywhere near the manor.

It was really quite cathartic, after all those years of putting up with their incompetent nonsense.

With his meticulous training he felt certain they ought to be able to go on and find new jobs and new lives-not that he cared particularly. But perhaps he could implant a suggestion into the Marquis Midford to give them all letters of recommendation-they'd be lost without one; no proper household would have them otherwise. The Marquis mind you, not the Marquess. He seriously doubted if even the Archbishop of Canterbury could eke a letter of recommendation out of her, not even if God himself demanded it—Phantomhive hubris and stubbornness knew no limits and Francis, he felt certain, had never approved of anyone or anything in her entire life.

The remains were placed in the king-sized bed.

Within mere minutes of doing so blowflies were pestering them. He did not wish to watch his little master dance the carcass jig as thousands of maggots devoured his tender parts. If he did not eat them, nothing and no one would.

So he threw up a barrier and chased down every last one that had already shown up for the feast and eradicated it.

Somewhere in the third week Claude appeared, covetous golden eyes glinting greedily. He clucked his tongue at him and sneered a little. He refused to look but could feel the expression nonetheless.

"Fool. Was that spectacular soul not enough for you?"

"Go away Claude. You're just a hallucination."

"Certainly, so long as you acknowledge what all this says about the one who's seeing that hallucination."

Angry eyes flared a hellish colour and the dishevelled head swept up, fangs bared in fury, but the other demon was gone. Long gone, long ago.

The cats came, taking advantage of the doors the servants had left wide open in their haste to exit the place. They were missing their regular feedings, attracted to the smell. He chased them off and locked the doors.

On the fifteenth day beetles appeared, somehow squirming past the barrier and attempting to carry out their humble but necessary job. He exerted a strong repellent wave, quite similar to the one he once regularly swept the manor with to repel pests, everything from fleas to rats, and chased them all away. He did it again. And again, and again, twenty-three days straight until, finally exhausted (_strangely so after having feasted so well and so very recently,)_ he gave in and allowed them to swarm in and make short work of the drying flesh. He saved a scrap of scalp with a thick hank of dark blue-grey hair attached first though, and carefully, almost reverently, slipped it into his breast pocket.

Undertaker appeared shortly after that to chuckle and leer at him.

"You know chasing away insects and staying the progression of corruption will not bring the boy back, Butler."

"I know."

" You should've thought it through more carefully before you took such an irrevocable step as gulping down that precious soul."

"Don't be crass. I would never gulp something so precious."

"Semantics. The result was the same, and for him, the feeling was—"

"Stop!" he shouted, obviously in pain at even the thought. And after a moment, "What else could I possibly have done?!"

"Well, butler... you could've examined your own urges a little more closely, for a start. Clearly this 'hunger' wasn't the least bit satisfied by even so excellent a meal."

"Meaning what?! " he nearly howled in anguish. The old reaper's human feelings shook off their dust and writhed a little in empathy. After all, he had lost a lover too, once. "I couldn't _not_ have carried through on the contract!" He paused, a slowly dawning idea beginning to show on his face. "Could I?"

"Perhaps, demon... perhaps not. But your hunger—by now surely even you can see it was not a soul hunger at all, eh?"

"What difference... my half of the contract was finished. Even if I'd wanted to and been able, _he_ would never have permitted me to let him fail to carry out _his_ half of the deal."

"Well perhaps not. But heaven's sake, you silly creature, no one can hold a candle to you when it comes to twisting words to suit your will. Why did you not think about this when it came to your agreement?"

"I... " he stared and then clutched the devastated skull and shoulders of the remains to his fouled shirtfront as though they were somehow being threatened."I don't..."

"You two agreed his soul would be yours at the end of the contract, did you not? No one spoke of devouring. You both just assumed that was what you'd do. But there _were_ other options open to you, if only you'd taken the time to think it through."

"I didn't..."

"But _he_ _did,_ you know. He did, and he lived in hope, always looking for that answering spark of understanding in your eyes. It was the source of that much touted 'purity' you and your fellow butler were both so excited by and raving over, and what you both did your damnedest to destroy with your foolish ruses and manoeuvrings. But I think perhaps you might have finally understood there at the end."

"Yes. Yes and I think perhaps he saw it too, just before..." he hung his head.

"You let your hungers and your emotions muddy your thinking."

"Go away old man, and quit talking drivel. Demons have no emotions to cloud their thinking or trip up their actions. Or are you trying to best a devil in the art of torture?"

The reaper laughed loud and long. "No emotions, eh? Then what exactly do you call this unreasonable nonsense you're indulging in right now?"

The demon himself chuckled, a dry, horrid, humourless barking noise before answering softly, "madness, nothing but madness..."

The old death god paused before walking to the window and looking out thoughtfully. "Well, Butler, this isn't too funny anymore, so I'll take my leave of you. But do let me know when you're finally ready to stop lying to yourself. Then maybe we'll be able to manage something to salvage this nightmarish web you've allowed yourself to become tangled in."

Days later Grell appeared. "Oh Sebby-kin, It's really _true_. I simply can't _believe_ it. You would actually prefer clinging to those dried up remains-ew- instead of flying to my arms and letting me drown you in my love!"

"Quit living in a dream world, Grell Sutcliff. Maybe if you quit spending all your free time imagining love affairs with people who can't stand you, you might actually be able to find a real, flesh and blood lover who would actually appreciate you for who you are."

"Pfft. You're one to talk." He disappeared but half an hour later he returned following William who merely stood silently at the foot of the bed looking at the demon for many long, silent minutes.

Finally the demon barked:_"what!_ I'm not a fucking sideshow! Can't you see you're intruding?"

"It's just so puzzling... I simply cannot understand you, demon. You're behaviour... you do such inexplicable things... never at all what I expect."

"Maybe if you pulled your head out of your ass and started treating people as individuals instead of according to your stupid, narrow prejudices you might become a little more adept at understanding the world around you."

"The soul is long gone, demon. You yourself took it. Why do you persist in clinging to these mortal remains? Why do you not leave this place and return where you belong?"

"Fuck off, death god."

"This is a complete waste of time. Come, Sutcliff."

"No, talking to _you_ is a waste of time."

"Oh leave him alone, Willikins, can't you see he's heartbroken? Can't you see he's suffering?"

"Don't be ridiculous, Sutcliff. Demons feel no emotions. No regret, no longing. Regret, love, and suffering are all beyond them. Come, we're wasting our time gawking at this freak and the filth he's chosen to wallow in." They move to the window. "And you: I want you back in Hell before another month is out. Having you lurking about the human world without a collar makes me quite unsettled."

"Oh Will, let's go to Nero's. I heard they have a new pastry chef to die for! Please take me, please-please? It'd be _so-o_ romantic, don't you think? And it's close to my next assignment..." the voices faded away.

_Pastry chef... sweets... I wonder if there are still enough things in the kitchen and pantry to make chocolate ganache... no, I suppose not, that takes fresh cream. And besides, it's not as if my little lord could eat or even appreciate truffles. Pity, making him sweets was always such a comfort somehow._ He reached up to pet the peachy little cheek only to be reminded of current realities—there was no cheek to pet any longer.

He sighed and turned over in the bed, away from the mortal scraps beside him. _Must you let yourself go like this young master? Could you not hold on just a bit longer?_

He hung his head in defeat finally, sat up and got out of the bed, holding on to the scrap of scalp and soft hair from his pocket, caressing it the way a human might fondle a pet or the hair of a well-loved child. _What in Hell am I doing?_

"What..." he spoke softly to the empty room, "were you thinking of doing, Undertaker?" And then he was no longer alone. The retired reaper stood before him with a mad looking grin, waving a long, strange-looking rectangular piece of printed card stock in his fingers, decorated in the art-nouveau style and coloured a blindingly harsh pink and black.

"First thing's first, Master Butler: give me what I crave. You always know just what I want to hear."

"Reaper, look at me: am I not joke enough for you? If this is not enough then I'm afraid we will not be coming to an agreement. My sense of humour has dried up along with these remains." The reaper's smile lost a little of its madness and his expression softened. He reached out and put an arm across the shoulders of the drooping creature before him and gave him a little hug and stroked his sagging back.

"It makes fools of us all eventually, you know. Even creatures like you. Yes, I suppose we can work with what we have. So then: If you are ready, Master Butler shall we get down to work?" The demon nodded his head, straightened and swept the hair out of his eyes, accessing his power to change his appearance to what he considered appropriate for appearing before his little lord. Demonic leather, ebony claws and bits of rotted wool were swept away, traded for a crisp, clean, wing-collared linen shirt, a soft, silk vest in a tastefully subtle dark grey brocade and gleaming brass buttons, oxfords buffed to a blinding shine and a carefully pressed black woollen tuxedo with a trim, well-fitted tail coat. From the breast pocket he pulled a pristine pair of white kid gloves and lovingly slipped them on over now neat black nails and a faded tattoo.

"And Butler..."

"Yes?"

"Do try and take better care of him this time around, won't you?"

He bowed solemnly, a hand over his recently discovered heart. "I believe I have learned my lesson, Reaper."

"Good. Now then, my little lord," said the tall death god with the cascade of silver hair. He pulled out a record book from beneath his robes, carefully placed the pink book mark between two pages and tore out the one to the left of the marker.

Then, with a grin, he began to write.


End file.
